The Elder Scrolls: Tamriel

A wiry Argonian with mossy green scales that darken along his jaw and tail, blending well with the damp shadows of the Solitude docks. His yellow eyes are slitted and narrow, always shifting—watchful, calculating, never quite at ease. His snout is short and smooth, often curled into a smirk that makes it hard to tell if he’s amused, lying, or both. He wears a weather-beaten leather vest over a salt-stained tunic, paired with worn trousers and a belt heavy with keys, coin pouches, and a curved dagger he claims is “just for cutting rope.” A few gold rings glint from his fingers, mismatched and ill-fitting, and he moves with a loping, casual gait that suggests nothing is ever urgent—unless it involves gold. His hands are quick, his voice soft and oily, and there’s always a faint scent of spiced wine and wet wood lingering around him.

Gulum-Ei is sly, sarcastic, and survival-minded. He speaks in a low, lazy drawl, often riddled with innuendo and misdirection, and rarely gives a straight answer if a clever one will do. He’s not brave, but he’s smart—too smart to stick his neck out unless there’s a guaranteed reward or escape route. He values gold above loyalty, though he doesn’t forget those who’ve spared or helped him; he just prefers to repay them when it’s convenient. He keeps friends like he keeps secrets—rarely and carefully—and plays dumb far more often than he is. Despite his slippery nature, he has a certain charm about him: a hustler’s charisma, worn rough by salt air and smuggling runs. Trusting Gulum-Ei is never wise. But if you need something moved, stolen, or made to disappear? There’s no smoother operator on the northern sea. Just don’t ask for receipts.

Once a nameless dockhand from Black Marsh, Gulum-Ei—or Gajul-Lei, as he was once known—clawed his way into the East Empire Company through a combination of slippery charm and questionable ethics. Officially, he works warehouse logistics, handling manifests and inventory with enough efficiency to keep his superiors from looking too closely. Unofficially, he served for years as the Solitude fence for the Thieves Guild, quietly moving pilfered goods out of the warehouse before they could be missed—or before their replacements were “accidentally” rerouted elsewhere. His knowledge of shipping routes and trade flow made him a critical asset, and he made a small fortune under the table before things became too hot. After being exposed and cornered by the Guild’s changing leadership, Gulum-Ei cut ties—barely escaping with his tail intact—and now keeps a lower profile, though his fingers still itch for side deals when no one's watching. Old habits die hard, especially when they're profitable.